Looking Ford-Ward
by maniac's maniac
Summary: After hearing about the loss of his brother, Fiddleford McGucket finally decides to see his old friend, Stanford. Instead he finds that someone else has taken his place. Someone who would probably be better off forgetting that Stanford had ever existed.
1. Prologue: Three Letters Ago

Fiddleford McGucket nearly had a panic attack when reading the paper that morning. With the headline, "Stan Pines Dead," he felt a painful ache in his chest. Did the beings his old partner feared were pursuing him finally get to him? Had he killed himself in a fit of insanity? Fiddleford had sent spies to keep an eye on his old friend, and knew that his mental state had been degrading for months. He knew that Stanford would try to stay awake for weeks at a time, and with all of the other stresses in his life, F felt that it was only a matter of time before his friend's mental state would degrade so much that he would kill himself. Intentionally or not.

As he continued to read the article, he let out a guilty sigh of relief. Stanford hadn't died after all. Rather it was some guy named Stanley Pines. He knew that it was terrible, but he felt glad that someone else had died instead.

However, through his feeling of relief, something tingled in the back of his memory. Something that he hadn't quite erased. As he put on a cheap suit and tie, he remembered what it was. Ford would sometimes write about a brother in his journals before immediately scribbling the entry out. This had always piqued his curiosity, and he eventually found that when Ford was in a particularly good mood, he could sometimes coax him into reminiscing about his childhood in New Jersey. F always liked watching him reminisce about how he used to work on fixing up an old, abandoned boat with his brother. The nostalgic sparkle in his eyes always put F at ease, even immediately following a scare. But Ford's mood would always sour at the mention his brother and the topic would have to be dropped.

Maybe it was finally time to talk to Ford. To confront him over everything that happened. The end of the world hadn't come, and no anomalies had happened in months. Maybe Ford had actually heeded his advice and gave up on the portal. At the very least, he could be there to comfort him over the loss of his brother. F knew that if he had lost his family, that he would do anything to have them back. And while he knew that he must not have been on the best terms with his brother, F thought that at the very least, he could help Ford forget any pain it brought him.

When arrived at their former shared lab, however, F was horrified at what he saw.

* * *

Stanley Pines had been in Gravity Falls for a few months and had finally started making a steady profit with this whole, "Mystery Shack," scam. With the issue of keeping the lights on out of the way, he could finally get started on his real work.

Every night, he would comb through his brother's journal over and over for any detail that could help him. He tried to work on the portal as best as he could, but had long since hit a dead end. There was not enough information in this first journal to even begin repairing the portal, and he did not have the mechanical genius that this device obviously required. While he was able to make some progress with the mechanical engineering books he checked out from the Gravity Falls library, this portal was far beyond any normal, modern human's understanding.

With everything else failing him, he only had one lead left. Once every few dozen entries in the journal, Ford would mention someone that he always called, "F." Usually it would only be a small anecdote such as, "Keep away from F," "Show F later," or "Tell F to store with the other samples." Though sometimes he would include a story about him and F confronting some monstrosity together. From what Stan could tell, "F" was some kind of assistant of his brother's, but he couldn't help but feel that there was something more there.

He would investigate "F," soon, but he knew that he had to take it easy for the next few weeks. Stan had just faked his own death, and it would be suspicious for him to go running around looking for this F so soon after he was supposed to have lost a brother. Certainly, it was something his brother would have done, but he wanted to keep as much suspicion away from him as possible.

Still, he had bills to pay, and he may as well try to profit off of his, 'grief' one way or another. Putting on his worn, red, jacket, 'Stanford' put on a despondent expression and went to work. But as he went about his day, trying to convince everyone that giving, 'donations' is exactly what his dead brother would have wanted, he didn't expect anyone to actually confront him.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Welcome to the prologue of a rather self-indulgent little fanfic idea that I pretty much just came up with in the past week and quickly typed up between classes when I should have been doing homework. Basically, I saw how little there is of Cultist!Fiddleford in the Gravity Falls fan community, and decided that needed to be fixed. (Can I just say those robes look very cute on him, or would that be weird?) So this story will be delving a lot more into the Society of the Blind Eye and cultist themes in a bit, so expect some bad, violent stuff. There will probably be some implied Ford/Fiddleford (A ship I have decided to affectionately call Ford²) throughout the story, but nothing explicit. That is if I actually ever decide to finish this._


	2. Chapter 1: Missing Fingers

"Stanford Filbrick Pines." Stan couldn't help but to turn and look at the man who had just addressed him by his brother's full name. "What in Habberswaggle do you think you're doin'?" Taking a step back, Stan could immediately tell that this man was slightly unhinged. If it wasn't for how lanky the stranger was, Stan might have even felt intimidated by him. But he was more startled at how he was recognized. "What have you done to your lab? And more importantly, what're you doin'? We spent years collectin' and buildin' this… These here… 'Souvenirs!' And now you're just sellin' 'em? Do these people even know what they're buyin'?" The stranger ripped some kind of scientific device that Stan was trying to sell from his hand. "You know that this is a sensitive piece of equipment! And now that you've broken' it, you're just tryin' to pawn it off? Do these people even have a use for a Weird-Ality Tracker?"

Stan let out a nervous laugh, putting on the best impression of his brother he could. "Excuse me, but have we met before? Maybe I could interest you in a tour…"

"Aw, don't give me that, "Have we met before?" donkeyshit! Don't you go actin' like you don't remember who Ah am, Stanford!" With his free hand, the stranger jabbed a confrontational finger into Stan's chest. "It's me. You know, Fiddleford Hadron McGucket! Your old assistant? Or was Ah even less than that to you? Ah haven't even touched your memories, so you better not even start actin' like you forgot! At least… Ah… Ah don't remember touchin' your memories…"

Wondering for a moment what his brother did to make this man so angry, Stan's mind put two and two together. This must have been… "F! Long time no see. I didn't recognise you! You're looking… Good…? Have you done something with your hair? I like your suit." Stan tried his hardest to keep a friendly smile, but could feel his face twitching as he tried to complement the rather haggard-looking man. "How have you been lately, buddy?"

The stranger seemed to be taken aback, but hesitantly started to answer. "Ah've been better, but Ah… I heard you lost your brother. I know you've been actin'... Acting strange lately and I wanted to check and see if you were alright."

Seeing that F was calming down, Stan grabbed his hand. "Yeah, yeah. It's all very tragic. Why don't we talk inside?" he insisted, dragging the man along behind him.

Fiddleford could feel that something was wrong, but upon seeing the burn on what he thought was his old friend's back, it made his suspicions hesitate. "What… Why do you have that scar?" he asked, seeing Stan's patch of burnt skin peeking out from underneath a hole in his jacket. He recognized the symbol. "Did… did you fall asleep on the cooling equipment or something? I told you that you need to sleep more! And now you've gotten yourself hurt."

Stopping for a moment, Stan took his free hand and grasped at his chest opposite of the burn scar. Remembering the fight still made it ache. "Oh… You... You saw that?" he forced himself to laugh, remembering to avoid those symbols in the future. "Well, you know, how I sometimes get carried away doing all my scientific… Nerd… Stuff..." Opening the door, he yanked F inside, and quickly shut the door behind them.

Fiddleford looked around the cabin in confusion. It was so… Clean. This wasn't like Ford at all. Even in college, Ford had always been knee-deep in research and random things he liked to collect. He only ever left just enough space to walk around the room, or in this case, house. Fiddleford knew that his old friend couldn't have just stored it away somewhere else. The thought that Ford had sold so much of their research away horrified him.

F turned to confront what he thought had been his scientific partner, but now that they were in the cabin alone, he was able to get a better look at the man in front of him.

While his face was so familiar, he wasn't quite certain that he recognized it. "You're… You're not wearing your glasses… And… You've done something different with your hair." F narrowed his eyes. Something was definitely off.

Stan knew that the gig must be up, but found that he couldn't stop himself from continuing to lie. "I… I just wanted to try a new look. Do you like it?"

Remaining silent, F slowly looked down at the hand that was still holding his. Something felt wrong, and as he counted the fingers, he knew what it was.

As much as F knew Ford tried to keep people from fixating on them, there was something oddly comforting about how Ford's hand would engulf his own. He used to joke that getting pulled along by a six fingered hand was 20% more convincing. Ford would then retort that he was just trying to be 20% more helpful. But counting his fingers now, he only found five.

Horrified, F tore his hand away. "Stanford… What did you… How could you… I didn't think… Why?" A thousand questions popped into his head as he scrambled to find the right words. For a moment he honestly thought that Ford had… The mere idea made F shudder. However, an even more terrible realization hit him.

Slowly backing away, F grabbed the nearest surface to him, desperately looking for something to defend himself with. "Who… Who are you? And what'd'ja do to Stanford?"

* * *

 _Author's Note: With this story I'm going to try something a little different than what I've done with previous fanfic of mine. Each chapter is only about a page or two long. This makes it easier for people to read and also easier for me to type up and edit between classes. I've already got about 8 Chapters written! I'm also posting this on both AO3 as well as on here, but with the updates on here being a week late (in theory). This is sheerly because I am getting more feedback on AO3 than on here._

 _In any case, I've been away from the fanfic community for a while. Is there an automated way to delay the posting of a chapter until a specified future date? I'd much rather do the labor of scheduling the chapters to be released in the future and not have to worry about logging on consistently to post a chapter on schedule._

 _If you liked this chapter and have any suggestions or predictions, don't forget to favorite or review, if that's what pleases you._

 _Your crappy ciphered joke for today is: WKH ZHLUG-DOLWB WUDFNHU LV 100 SHUFHQW DFFXUDWH LQ GHWHFWLQJ DFFRUGLRQ-SODBLQJ SDURGB PXVLFLDQV!_

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 _20-8-9-19 12-9-20-20-12-5 16-9-7-7-25 23-5-14-20 20-15 16-18-9-19-15-14._  
 _20-8-9-19 12-9-20-20-12-5 16-9-7-7-25 19-20-1-25-5-4 8-15-13-5._  
 _20-8-9-19 12-9-20-20-12-5 16-9-7-7-25 8-1-4 1-14 1-14-24-9-5-20-25 4-9-19-15-18-4-5-18_  
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 _"4-15 19-15-13-5-20-8-9-14-7 19-20-1-14-12-5-25," 1-12-12 20-8-5 23-1-25 9-14-20-15 1 16-1-18-1-12-12-5-12 4-9-13-5-14-19-9-15-14!_


	3. Chapter 2: Scars

Stanley could feel his blood run cold as F backed away. He knew that look. It was the look of someone just waiting for an excuse to attack. It was the same paranoid and feral look that his own brother had greeted him with only a few months ago. Dropping the act, he spoke openly. "Look, F, I'm not going to hurt you. Honest. I'm not Stanford, see?" He held his hands innocently in front of him. "I'm his twin brother, Stanley. Ford… Well… There was an accident. But he's still alive! I swear! Or… At least I think he's still alive…"

Fiddleford clutched the table pressing against his back tightly as Ford's lookalike spoke. "How… how do Ah know ya ain't the Shifter or some kinda demon in disguise?"

"Shifter..? Look, I'm not asking you to like me. You can be suspicious of me and my motives all you want. I get that. In fact, when you end up in jail as often as I have, you expect that. But if I know Sixer, and trust me, we're twins. We're life partners, so of course I know him. Then that means that you're that poindexter's only friend. And that makes you my best shot at getting him back." Stan could tell that he was getting through to F. His breathing was beginning to slow and he was starting to calm down. "Besides, if I was some kind of, 'demon trying to take your eyes,' don't you think that I would've already tried attacking you?"

As the alleged twin spoke, Fiddleford slowly began to relax his grip. "I… Ah see. If you were the Shifter, Ah'd doubt he'd do such a shoddy job of copying him… But Ah've got my eye on you, Stan… Stanley." Something about saying the man's name didn't feel right to F. "But don't you go thinkin' that this means that I'm real inclined to trustin' you! Ah just want to know if I can help Stanford, and that's it. So don't go actin' like we're partners, got it?"

"Fine, whatever. As long I get my brother back, you can watch me all you want. Now come on," waving a hand to follow him, Stan headed towards the basement. He let out a sigh, waiting for F to follow. "It's just like you, Sixer, to make friends with one of the craziest people in town," he muttered under his breath as F started to trail after him.

Meanwhile, F had grabbed a discarded screwdriver from the table, and began fiddling with the Weird-Ality Tracker in his hands. He was having a hard time looking at Stanley without thinking about Stanford and needed something to do with his hands. "So... What happened to Stan… To your brother that needs him some rescuin'?" He absently asked, following Stanley and refusing to tear his eyes away from the device.

Stan could feel the scar on his back itch as the two of them squeezed into the elevator together. "Well... A few months ago, my brother invited me here. I thought that he wanted to see me again. To catch up, you know… We hadn't seen each other in over ten years, and I didn't exactly leave on the best terms with him. I thought that maybe he'd forgiven me…" Stan felt grateful that F was too distracted by the doodad to see the ashamed look on his face. "But… He just wanted to use me to hide his research… Well, we got into a fight and… It was an accident, I swear…" He sighed as the elevator doors slid open, letting the two of them out into the 3rd story basement.

As they walked down the hallway of highly complicated controls, Stan couldn't help but to watch how deftly F was fixing the device in his hands with a mild sense of awe.

A painful sense of regret welled into Stan's chest as they came to the main chamber. "I… I made a mistake. We went a little too far, and I really fucked up. We were fighting, and before I could do anything... I pushed him into _that_." Stan entered the massive underground chamber and motioned his arms up towards the giant, broken, circular portal set into an even more massive triangular frame.

Stan paused, waiting for a reaction from F, but he merely nodded to indicate that he was still listening. Stan couldn't help but to feel a bit exasperated. If losing a friend to a massive interdimensional portal didn't concern nor impress F, what did?

Knowing that he wasn't going to get a satisfying response from F, he decided to continue, rubbing the back of his head with a hand. "I don't know… I'm not an engineer, and I know nothing about fixing… Well. _That!_ But, Ford mentioned you in his journal and I thought that just maybe… You could fix it...? I know, it's absolutely crazy and a long shot, but I just don't know what else to do. It's my fault he's in trouble. I'm the one who pushed him into that thing, so it's my responsibility to save him, right? You were his partner, weren't you? Can't you help me save him?"

He was pleading, but F was still not even paying attention to his request. F had, however, just finished fixing the Weird-Ality Tracker. Stan stared in amazement at how the device immediately came to life at the flip of a switch. A display turned on and the whole device started to make a clicking sound.

"Wow, you really are the real deal, aren't you?" Stan asked, mildly impressed. In trying to learn how to fix the portal, Stan had practiced by working on some of the broken doodads around the house. That device in particular was far beyond anything he could understand, and none of the books he had, nor the notes he found around the house could help him make heads or tails of it. And yet this F guy had just fixed it with a screwdriver, one good look at it, and about 5 minutes of work. He knew this must have been why Stanford had brought him on.

F just waved a hand dismissively, reading the device. "Ah, it's nothin'. But these readin's are highly unusual. The number of Weird-Ality particles down here are off the charts, it's almost like…" In his distracted state, he hadn't realized that he was standing directly in front of the portal he and Ford had worked so hard on together. As he looked up, he started to panic.

Dropping the device in his hands, it immediately shut off. F fell backwards screaming, and he didn't entirely understand why. His lips were moving without his consent as the sounds, "YROO XRKSVI GIRZMTOV," forced its way out of his mouth. He wanted to stop screaming and to force his mouth shut so that no more words would force their way out. Instead he found that he couldn't tear his eyes from the portal, much less actually stop himself.

Stan didn't know what to do. F was speaking gibberish, and he wouldn't stop screaming. Not having any other ideas, Stan grabbed F by the shoulders and tried to shake him back to reality. "What? What is it? What happened? F, are you alright? Get ahold of yourself, man. You're really freaking me out."

Being shaken was just enough for F to come to his senses enough to cover his eyes with an arm. While he stopped screaming, he kept muttering, "It is unseen. It is unseen," over and over under his breath.

Stan looked up at the portal confused as he tried his hardest to understand what had just happened. But no matter how he looked at the situation, he found that he just couldn't.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Happy Halloween! Because of the holiday, I talked myself into posting this chapter early! After all, the rest of today I will be facing one of the world's most terrifying realities… ADULT RESPONSIBILITIES AND HOMEWORK! Obviously this chapter isn't that terrifying, but hey, it's a better Halloween present than most things I could do. I hope you all have a lovely and safe evening!_

 _Otherwise, I don't have much to say here other than: Poor F. He's such a mess. I love the poor darling, but he just wanted to be a normal genius inventor from Tennessee. He didn't ask for any of this crazy stuff to happen to him. (Unlike some genius inventors from New Jersey, STANFORD.) Also, if you think that my chapters are following a very specific formula/format, don't worry. That changes next chapter. Which is a shorter one. So see you next time when I update it! You know, unless I persuade myself to post the next chapter early for whatever reason._

 _My silly ciphered headcanon of the day is: RQ D VFDOH IURP QRUPDO FRKHVLYH HQJOLVK WR VSHDNLQJ HQWLUHOB LQ FLSKHUV, I'V VDQLWB LV DW DERXW PLOG FRXQWUB KLFN._

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	4. Chapter 3: Soothsayer

Seeing F in something of a catatonic state, Stan dragged the taller man back upstairs and carefully laid him down on a free couch. He paced the room, waiting for F to come back to his senses, all the while wondering.

Certainly this man wasn't always a gibbering mess like this. Stan knew that his brother couldn't have worked on the portal solely on his own. The amount of paperwork around the house made that much clear. But that meant that F must have been just as smart as his brother. If his accent was anything to go by, F wasn't from around Gravity Falls, and Stanford wouldn't have asked for him to come all this way to help if he wasn't anything short of brilliant. Certainly Ford wouldn't have tolerated someone who would panic at the drop of a hat. There had to be more to F that made him a good assistant. So what happened to F to make him such a fragile mess? What had happened to the two of them?

Stan watched F quietly muttering to himself and let out a sigh. It was strange. In a way, when he saw F, Stan was reminded of his brother. A genius always in way too over his head. At the very least they seemed to be experiencing the same sense of paranoia that he had last seen his brother with. Maybe F knew what happened to Stanford to make him so fatigued. Maybe F could finally give him some answers.

After a few minutes of laying down, Fiddleford finally stopped panicking and sat up. He found it strange. The mere thought of the portal made him panic, and he didn't know why. Outside of the warnings he had written down for himself countless times, he could only remember positive things about him and Ford building it. He had long since removed the memory of testing the portal from his mind, but still, when he looked at it, a primal instinct kicked in.

There was something bad… No… Evil about the portal that was trying to force itself back into remembrance in F's mind. The memory forced unwanted words into his head that he couldn't understand nor drive away. It burned images into his subconscious of a future that he knew must not come to pass. It made his head feel that it was going to split wide open, and it was only Stan's voice, that voice that sounded so familiar... It was only because of that voice that sounded so close to that of an old friend's that he was brought back to reality.

"Hey man, are you alright?" Stan asked, kneeling to F's level and putting a hand on his shoulder.

F looked into those familiar but strange eyes and let out a disheartened sigh.

"Ah… I'm sorry." It was all he could muster to say for a long moment. "I'm sorry, Icarus. I can't bring your family back." His tone was despondent and he refused to look Stan in the eyes.

"Ika-who?" Stan began, but F interrupted him.

"Look, I wish I could help you. I really do. Stanford… He was my best friend. We were roommates in college, and when he needed help on this project, I came running. I left my wife and child behind just for the chance of working with him again. I haven't seen them in years because of him." Stan stared at F, the words sinking in. "I would do anything to save your brother... But I can't do this. I can't fix the portal." F's eyes met Stan's, and for the first time since meeting him, Stan swore that F's eyes looked clear. "If I did… If I fixed the portal… Got it running again... It would bring about the end of the world. The one-eyed beast…" F visibly shuddered at the half-recalled memory. "The portal must never be opened again, you understand!? If you do open it…" F forced himself to look away, not fully understanding what he was saying. "He will surely make it to the opposite shore… But you will burn."

Stan just looked at F with a puzzled expression. "I don't know what you're talking about."

F stood up, pulling a piece of paper with a symbol on it from his pocket and handed it to Stan. "I can't help Stanford. He's as good as dead. But I can help _you_. Meet me at the Gravity Falls Museum of History, and I'll let you see what I _can_ do for you."

Stan watched F begin to head out with a mystified look before glancing down at the card in his hand. It was just a plain, small, white piece of paper with the picture of an eye, a red X going through it. Just as Stan realized that F hadn't given him a time, he was already gone.

* * *

 _Author's Note: This is me. Writing an author's note. Hello there. How are you today? I hope you're doing well. I've had a pretty good day. Writing fanfic. Watching stuff on YouTube. Here is your lovely officially scheduled update for the week. I do worry sometimes if anyone actually likes this little story I've been writing on here. Four 'chapters' in and not a single comment. Albeit, I know that some people have to like it considering that some people have been favoriting and alerting it. But still. Comments are nice._

 _Your crappy ciphered commentary of the day is: GRQ'W WHOO I WKDW KH MXVW FDOOHG VWDQ, "LFDUXV." KH GRHVQ'W NQRZ KRZ LURQLF LW LV!_

 _9-6 1-14 15-18-1-3-12-5 3-15-22-5-18-19 8-9-19 5-25-5-19_  
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 _15-18 23-15-21-12-4 8-9-19 16-18-15-16-8-5-3-9-5-19 19-20-9-12-12 3-15-13-5 20-15 2-5?_


	5. Chapter 4: Removed

As Fiddleford walked back to the museum, he couldn't shake the images from his mind. From the messages he had left for himself, he knew that he had seen the other side of the portal. But exactly what he saw, he could no longer remember.

Did it have something to do with these images he couldn't shake from his head? A cross shaped scar in an red-orange sky. Was that what he saw beyond the portal? There was something else there too. A shape. A being was, trying to form itself in his mind. He couldn't quite make out what it was, but he knew that it was something important.

Maybe it was finally time.

The thought terrified him, but he knew that there was no more danger. The portal was broken. He wasn't about to fix it, and it wasn't as if Stanford's brother could. As much as it hurt him to think about, now that Stanford was lost, he knew that the universe was safe. It certainly hadn't been destroyed yet. So, maybe it was finally time to remember what was beyond the portal.

The process for entering the secret chamber in the museum had become routine for him at this point. He pushed the button, a piece of stone with the symbol of an eye crossed out on it, and nervously bounced his leg as he waited for the hidden staircase to fully open.

"Ivan?" F called down into the main chamber as he came down the stairs. A zit-faced teenager came out from one of the halls, carrying a deep red robe.

Handing the robe to F, he took it with a grateful smile. "You cleaned my robes? Ah, you didn't have to do that."

"It was my pleasure, Master. Think of it as my way of paying you back for treating me so kindly. I also wanted to thank you for the banjo lessons." The young man slightly dipped his head in respect.

"Ivan..." F started in a scolding tone, "Now, what have I told you about callin' me that outside of rituals?"

The teenager blinked, before looking at the ground. "Not to call you that... Mr. McGucket…" he said, dejected.

"That's a good feller'." F regarded Ivan with a warm smile, gently picking his chin up with a hand. "Now would you mind summonin' the others? We're gonna to have a guest, and if he's anything like his brother, he may put up a fight."

"Yes, sir! Right away, sir!" F watched as Ivan scurried away.

"And tell 'em to just bring their regular attire! I don't want anyone raisin' any of our guest's suspicions just yet," he called after him.

Once he was certain that Ivan had heard him, F hung his robe near the main entrance and headed towards the Hall of the Forgotten.

As he looked through the canisters containing his own memories, he became surprised over just how many he had accumulated in these past few months. Running a hand through his hair, he thought that he should really consider consolidating his memories, if for nothing more than to save space. At the very least he considered making a filing cabinet for storing them all. But for now at least, he was just looking for one specific memory.

It was one of the first memories that he had volunteered to remove from his mind, and after digging around for a few minutes, he found it. Labeled, "Fiddleford McGucket: Portal," he put the canister in the recall display, ready to watch the video recording of his former self recounting the events of that fateful day, spliced in between images of the actual memory. However, that wasn't quite what the canister contained.

The removed memory seemed to start just like any other. F watched the video of his former self standing in his apartment, describing the removed memory. "I am Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, and I wish to unsee what I have remembered. If you are watching this, then it probably means that you have became curious about what happened when Stanford and I tested the interdimensional portal." Fiddleford watched as his past self paced about the room. "If you must know, there was an accident. I must have been too tired. Neither of us had a good night's sleep in weeks, and when we threw the test dummy into the portal…" The man in the video stopped pacing to look at the ground, ashamed. "I must have made a lapse in judgement. I was tangled in the rope we tied to the dummy, and before I could react, my head went through."

Normally here it would cut to the actual memory as the version of himself in the video recalled the event. But no such cut happened. "I sustained no physical injuries," Fiddleford's past self recalled. "However I have removed the memory of what happened… Of what I saw beyond the portal... And I have destroyed the canister." F looked at himself in shock. He hadn't expected himself to do this, but then again when he thought back to this moment now, the reasons were perfectly clear in his mind. "I… _You_ must not be allowed to remember what happened. _We_ must not remember what we saw beyond the portal. Just remember." F watched his former self take a gun-shaped device in his hands, spinning a wheel on its side. "The portal must never be opened again. If it is... It will certainly lead to the destruction of our universe. I have seen it. I have seen the monster beyond the portal and he must not be allowed to escape." F let out a remorseful sigh. "Stanford needs to be protected. The monster has been using him and will try make him open the portal again. He needs to be saved… He needs to be stopped... Bill Cipher must be defeated." Something about the memory made F's right arm itch. "Fiddleford, he will try to use you, and everyone close to you to get what he wants. You must not let him through the portal. You must destroy Bill Cipher. It's the only way to protect the universe. I just hope that you remember this warning." With that, F watched as he put the gun-shaped device to his head and pulled the trigger.

The footage ended and F was left staring at the screen's static for a long moment before leaving. He had work to do and he wasn't going to let this minor distraction get in the way of that.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Happy Saturday! I'm spending my weekend watching RoosterTeeth's Extra Life Charity Livestream. If you aren't doing anything this weekend and you're reading this on the Saturday or Sunday this chapter is being released, I highly recommend checking it out! It's always great fun, it's for a great cause, and it's always a delight watching people make asses of and harming themselves for charity!  
_

 _Anyway, back to the story, the plot thickens?! I always try to write fanfiction in a way that even if the person hasn't experienced the source material, they can still follow the story. I fear that this chapter would completely lose anyone who hasn't seen Gravity Falls though... Shrug. This chapter feels like one of the more poorly written ones I've made for this story so far but I can't do much about it. This chapter is necessary to set up some ideas and conflicts that will pop up later. So as always, if you have any feedback, I would greatly appreciate hearing it! Have a good day!_

 _Your random encrypted observation for the day is: L ILQG I WR EH DQ LQWHUHVWLQJ HADPSOH RI D EOLQG VHHU. RXW RI HYHUBRQH LQ WKH VHULHV, KH LV EB IDU WKH PRVW SURSKHWLF, KDYLQJ SUHGLFWHG WKH IXWXUH DQG KDYLQJ VHHQ WKH 'WUXWK' RQ PXOWLSOH RFFDVLRQV. KRZHYHU KH LV VWLOO YHUB EOLQG, 'FRYHULQJ KLV HBHV,' VR WR VSHDN EB HUDVLQJ KLV PHPRUB DQG WUBLQJ WR LJQRUH RU IRUJHW KLV SUHGLFWLRQV. RI FRXUVH HBHV DUH D YHUB SURPLQHQW VBPERO DQG PRWLI LQ JUDYLWB IDOOV -FRXJKELOOFLSKHUFRXJK- EXW HBHV DUH HVSHFLDOOB HPEOHPDWLF RI I DQG KLV DUF. EOLQG HBH. BRX RSHQHG PB HBHV. JODVVHV. ZKB WKH KHFN LVQ'W I LQFOXGHG RQ WY WURSH'V SDJH DERXW WKH 'EOLQG VHHU' WURSH? VXUH, LW'V QRW OLWHUDO. KH GLGQ'W JRXJH KLV RZQ HBHV RXW WR VHH WKH IXWXUH, EXW KH VWLOO FKRRVHV WR EH EOLQG._

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 _1 23-9-6-5 1-14-4 3-8-9-12-4 8-5 12-5-6-20 2-5-8-9-14-4,_  
 _6-15-18 1 19-3-9-5-14-20-9-19-20 1-14-4 1 2-15-25 23-9-20-8 15-14-5 5-25-5 2-12-9-14-4._  
 _23-8-25 8-5 4-9-4 9-20, 9-20'19 8-1-18-4 20-15 19-1-25._  
 _2-21-20 19-15-13-5-20-8-9-14-7 1-2-15-21-20 9-20 19-5-5-13-19 1-23-6-21-12-12-25 7-1-25._


	6. Chapter 5: Partners

Stan tried to go about the rest of his day working, but quickly found himself distracted by the slip of paper in his pocket. What did the symbol mean? And what did F mean by, 'help?' As much as he lamented the loss in profit, he had to know what F was talking about. Stan needed to see him.

It took Stan longer than he expected to actually find the Gravity Falls History Museum, but when he did, he was immediately confronted by an unwillingness to pay for a museum ticket. Standing in front of the museum, he stared at the paper, still not knowing what it was supposed to mean. Scratching his head, he looked up and around. F hadn't given him a time. But certainly F didn't expect for Stan to just wait around until he showed up.

That was when he noticed it. Carved into the back of one of the owl statues leading to the Museum's entrance was the image of an eye. An X was spray painted on top of the carving. Stan recognised it immediately. It was the same symbol as the paper in his hand. Walking up to it, he noticed that the eye seemed to be looking off in one direction. Following its gaze, he found a similar symbol roughly carved into the trunk of a tree across the way. This had to be some kind of trail.

Following the gaze of the eyes, he was brought to the back of the building. There he found F, leaning against the wall, chewing a wad of tobacco.

"So you decided to come," F said ominously, spitting out a black wad of fluid to punctuate his sentence.

Stan looked around a little confused. "How long have you been waiting for me out here?"

Ignoring the question, F motioned for Stan to follow him into the open passage next to him. The passage seemed to be going into and underneath the museum. As F walked into the darkness, Stan was hesitant to join.

"It's nothing to worry about, Stan," he told himself. "You're just following a possibly deranged man into a dark and mysterious underground passage. Nothing unusual here." Nervously he tried to laugh, but it did little to ease his nerves.

Stepping into the darkness, Stan could hear the entrance closing behind him. He glanced back for a moment before noticing light shining towards him at the bottom of the staircase. Following the passageway, he came into large stone chamber illuminated by torches along the walls.

"What is this place?" Stan asked, following F to a small table next to a single chair in the middle of the chamber. "Don't tell me that this is some kind of secret clubhouse you and my brother made." Somehow a secret clubhouse under the museum sounded exactly like his brother.

"This? Aw, this secret level's been 'ere long before your brother or I came to this here town. Stanford would've been able to find out more about its exact age. He always was into the weirdest things. Architecture and stonework included! All that stuff never meant nothin' to me, but I know that this here room's at least a hundred years old." Fiddleford glanced around the room as he took the device from its place in the chest on the altar.

Stan let out a mildly interested grunt. "So, what did you bring me down here for? You gonna to tell me that you're part of some secret organization or something? Because the last time I was taken down to a secret room like this, I had to fight off half of the Nebraskan mafia with just a cob of corn and a record of Frank Sinatra's greatest hits." Laughing, Stan's eyes darted about the room for anything that could indicate what this room was supposed to be used for. Noticing some droplets of blood on the floor, he couldn't help but to assume the worst.

F seemed to be genuinely surprised by the analogy. "What? No! No. I ain't about to try fightin' you. Now why don't you take a seat?"

"You're not going to tie me down or anything like that are you?" Stan looked at the chair with suspicion. It certainly looked like a comfortable seat, but the arm straps screwed into the wood were more than a little concerning.

"Ah, that won't be necessary." Somehow, F saying that did little to comfort Stan. "I just wanna hear how you got that scar."

"Scar? You mean the burn scar on my back?" he asked, moving a hand to his right shoulder.

"Yeah. That one. It must hurt a lot to think 'bout." Stan watched as F seemed to be messing with some device in his hands.

"You can say that one again." Stan sat down in the chair in a huff. "Ford practically branded me like a horse or something. Some brother he turned out to be."

F hesitated. "I'm so sorry. Can you please explain?"

"Not much to explain." Stan crossed his arms. "I already told you that Ford and I got into a fight. Well, I tried to burn his journal, and he tackled me. We wrestled on the floor for a bit and I ended up on top of him. He kicked me away, and he accidentally pressed my back onto… Well... You'd know more about whatever that thing was than I would."

Turning to Stan, the guilt was clear on F's face. "I… I'm so sorry. We… It's our fault really. We should have been safer… But we were so excited, and we were so exhausted… We should have made the cooling runes inaccessible, or at least have covered them up or something, but neither of us were thinking straight… I… I…" Fiddleford was shaking as he grabbed his head with a free hand.

Stan realized that F was on the edge of another kind of episode, so he leaned forward and put a hand on his arm. "It… It's alright. It was an accident. I mean, who leaves something that hot just out in the open for anyone to touch? But hey, shit happens, right? At least now I know how livestock feels."

F seemed to be calming down. He let out a small laugh. "Right. I mean… Only a couple of idiots would do something like that."

Stan gave F a small smile in return. "Look," he began after a moment of silence. "I'm not going to… Blame you exactly for what happened. It's just… It hurts sometimes to think about, you know? When I remember what happened… Sometimes I can still feel it burning. I just couldn't believe that Stanford could…" Stan wanted to say more, but his voice faltered.

"Would you like to forget?" F asked after a long moment of silence.

"What?" The question seemed to come out of nowhere, taking Stan by surprise.

"The memory. It hurts. 'Course it would. But would you like to forget it?" Only now did Stan get a full view of the gun-shaped device in F's hands.

Shaken, Stan looked from the gun to F's face. "I… I mean, I guess if I could… But it's not like you can just wipe it from…"

"Yes, I can."

Stan fell silent, a mix of shock and horror on his face.

"Don't worry." F affirmed, holding the gun to his chest. "There are no negative side-effects. I engineered this device myself, and I've used it hundreds of times on myself and on others. I can simply remove that one memory from your mind, and it won't bother you no more." Holding the memory-erasing gun to the light, he indicated the cylinder on the back. "If you want to remember the removed memory for whatever reason, you can simply rewatch the record stored in this cylinder here, and it'll be just like the memory never left you."

"W… What?" It was the only thing Stan could say through his shock. "Why…?"

"Look. I've been awful lonely since I left your brother to finish working on the portal on his own. I… I've missed him. Certainly you've missed him too." Stan looked at the ground. F was right. "And I was just thinking… You know… You must have a lot of painful memories in that there head of yours that keep you up at night. I can fix that." F gingerly knelt down and put his hand on top of Stan's. "Think of it as a favor from me to you. An apology for earlier." Stan and F's eyes met for a moment before F stood up again, pulling his hand away. "However, I don't want to force you into anything that you don't want to. You can try living without the memory of Stanford giving you that scar for a week and see how you feel. And if you like it… Well… I can let you use this here memory gun as much as you want to keep the bad memories away. And then maybe... We could be... Partners?"

* * *

Happy Saturday! Today fall break is starting for me! Whoo! Can't wait to spend all break reading for classes and writing essays! In any case, I may post the next chapter on Thanksgiving. You know. To celebrate our weird little nonsense holiday. And also because family and all that. But I dunno.

In any case, back to the story at hand, what will Stan choose?! Can you predict where I plan on taking this story!? When will I make due on the conflict I allude to in this story's summary!? As always, I hope that you have a good weekend, and any feedback for this fanfiction would be greatly appreciated!

My silly encrypted anecdote for the day is: BHV, I GHYLVHG WKDW ZKROH HQWUDQFH VHW XS, DQG VWRRG WKHUH IRU OLNH… DQ KRXU MXVW WR PDNH VWDQIRUG'V EURWKHU WKLQN WKDW KH'V PBVWHULRXV DQG FRRO.

* * *

8-1-14-4-19 20-8-1-20 16-21-19-8 1-14-4 8-1-14-4-19 20-8-1-20 16-21-12-12,  
20-23-15 2-15-14-4-19 20-8-1-20 8-1-14-4-19 3-1-14'20 2-18-5-1-11.  
6-15-18 20-8-5-19-5 20-23-15 13-5-14 23-9-20-8 13-1-20-3-8-9-14-7 8-1-14-4-19,  
20-8-5 15-6-6-5-18 23-1-19 14-15-20 6-1-11-5.


	7. Chapter 6: Bullets

"Partners..." Stan thought back to his childhood with his brother, when it used to just be the two of them; two parts of a dynamic duo. It had been a long time since anyone had wanted to be his partner, and he missed it. He missed having someone at his back whom he could always rely on. He hadn't truly had anything like that in years. Even when he did have to work with others, it was only convenience or circumstance that kept them together and not any actual sense of kinship.

"Ah swear, if y'spend one week without the memory, it'll do wonders. It must keep you up at night thinkin' about how he hurt _you_ , his own brother in such a manner. We can stop it if you let me help you."

Stan looked away, thinking for a long moment. "I…" He laughed. "Oh man, this is absolutely crazy. I… I can see why Ford would've wanted to keep you around…"

The statement took F by surprise. Stan's wistful smile made F's heart race, and he didn't exactly know why. Stan had to admit, the two really were alike in some ways. Have a traumatic experience? Why try to talk it out or see a therapist when you can make some science doodad and blast it out of your head instead? It was an answer so convoluted, of course Ford would be interested in anyone who came to such a conclusion.

Standing, Stan patted F on the shoulder. "Sorry, F, but I think that I'll have to pass." Stanford would have been interested in that train of thought, but in spite of their years of separation, Stan knew that it was not an option Ford would have indulged in for himself.

F was taken aback. As far as he could remember, no one had ever refused having their memories wiped when he had offered. Only one other person had ever even spoken out about his actions with the memory gun.

So they did have something in common after all.

Rubbing the back of his neck with a hand, Stan continued. "I know I'd probably be happier not knowing, but if I forgot how I got this scar, I'd forget why I'm here. Stanford… He's not the best guy in the world, I know, but he's still my brother. I can't forget all the bad times. What kind of brother would I be if I did?" Stan let out a laugh. "A brother has to be there to remind their sibling of all the bad things they did so that they never do them again. Who else is going to scold him when he finally comes back? So thanks for the offer, but no. I don't want to forget."

As Stan turned to leave, F grabbed the arm of his jacket. The movement was immediately met by Stan nervously pulling his arm away. "Woah, hey! Just because I don't want to have my memory wiped, it doesn't mean that you need to be so grabby! We can still..." but before he could finish, F interrupted.

"People don't refuse this, Stanley Pines," F muttered ominously.

Stan slowly backed away. "What? Hey, F, we can still be friends, or whatever. Actually, there's still a lot that I wanna ask you about. I would love to know what you and my brother…"

"So what?" There was a harshness in F's voice. "So that you can go and get yourself killed?"

"Killed…?"

"Yes, killed. Just like your idiot brother." Stan noticed how quickly F's knee bounced as he was becoming more agitated. "You want to get close to me, but not to help me? And for what? So that _you_ can open the portal? So that you can pick up where he left off in ending the universe? _I don't think so_."

"End the universe? What's that supposed to mean?" Stan was slowly backing away as F approached him. "I'm not trying to end anything! Do you really think that _I_ could do that? Do you honestly think that I'm such a bad guy that I would try to end the universe?"

That statement made F pause, his eyes darting to the floor. "No. I don't. But I didn't think that your brother could either… And I saw it… I saw the anomalies. I saw how the machine was failing and I saw… I saw what was beyond it…" When F looked to Stan again, he was horrified at what he saw.

"He's using you, isn't he?" F asked quietly. "You're one of his pawns, aren't you?" F's eyes scurried the room afraid. It was as if the walls were watching him. "He has his eyes everywhere. You… You don't see them, do you?"

Stan remembered his brother acting the same way as F was now. "You… You're just crazy, aren't you?" He let out an angry breath. "I knew that this would be a mistake. My brother must have kept you around out of pity. Here I was thinking that I _finally_ could have some answers, but no. You probably just drove my brother mad with your insane ramblings, didn't you?"

"What? No!" Now it was F on the defensive. "I didn't do anything to your brother. He was the one who was foolish enough to contact _him_! Stanford did it to himself! I'm just trying to fix it!"

"And yet you won't even fix the portal to save him. Your 'best friend.' Sure. That makes sense." Stan rolled his eyes. "Like there's so much that you need to fix for him."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" F shot back.

"I know enough to see that you're just insane. This has just been one wild goose chase." Stan was just about fed up with F and his erratic behavior. It was obvious that his first assessment of this man had been the right all along and that he never should have humored F's delusions. That 'memory gun' of his was probably just a bunch of junk that F had found and taped together. What was he thinking that this madman could help him save his brother? "I'm getting out of here!" he shouted, angrily starting to walk towards a hallway, not knowing where it would lead, but hoping that it would be a way out.

Stan didn't turn as F let out the order. "Restrain him!"

From behind the pillars about the room, a group of men came out and surrounded Stan, quickly grabbing his arms and forcing them behind his back. Stan wasn't able to react, and while he kicked and pulled, the two men forcing him to his knees were too strong for him to fight against alone.

"Hey! What the hell is this!? Who are these people?" Stan shouted, trying his hardest to fight back.

F seemed despondent as he sullenly approached Stan, the words, 'burn scar' entered into the small display on the gun. "People don't refuse this offer, Stanley. 'These people' are just a few of the people who have let me help them. 'These people' have volunteered themselves to help me help the rest of the town. Not that you understand. Not yet at least."

Holding the memory gun to Stan's head, Stan suddenly froze. As he looked up at F, he no longer saw the skinny and disheveled scientist, too thin to be a real threat. Instead saw the ghost of a memory hovering over him, pointing a gun to his head with cold, ruthless eyes. He wanted to fight back, but only could quivver as F looked coolly down at him.

"You'll see, Stanley. It's for the best."

He pulled the trigger.

* * *

Author's Note: Stan's been shot. He ded now. On a more serious note, I guess this is kinda the end of Act 1 of this story? That should give you kinda an idea of how long this story's gonna be. Welp, in any case, happy American Thanksgiving! May you enjoy this day of food and vacation, if you have it. Here is my little gift for you! Next chapter is a pretty short one. Chapter after that is a pretty intense one though, so hopefully that makes up for it. But I dunno. In any case as always, feedback is greatly appreciated.

Encrypted notes of emotions for the day are: VWDQ ZRXOG XVXDOOB ILJKW EDFN ZKHQHYHU D JXQ LV SRLQWHG DW KLP. EXW VRPHWLPHV LW'V KDUG WR ILJKW EDFN DJDLQVW BRXU SDVW, KLGGHQ WUDXPDV.

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21-14-11-14-15-23-9-14-7-12-25, 6 9-19 1 12-9-1-18,  
5-18-1-19-9-14-7 13-5-13-15-18-9-5-19 1-7-1-9-14-19-20 15-20-8-5-18'19 23-9-12-12-19.  
20-23-15 13-5-14 8-5 8-1-19 6-15-21-7-8-20 1-7-1-9-14-19-20 20-8-5-9-18 4-5-19-9-18-5-19,  
9-3-1-18-21-19 1-14-4 1 6-1-22-15-18-9-20-5 16-21-16-16-5-20 15-6 2-9-12-12'19.


	8. Chapter 7: Blinders

Stan tried to look around the room, but everything was fuzzy. "Where… Where am I?" he muttered to himself, holding a hand to his head. While he didn't have a headache, something definitely felt wrong. He felt disoriented, but didn't know why.

A man came up to Stan, trying to help him back to his feet. "Y'all right there, Stan?" Something about the man seemed familiar. Maybe it had something to do with his accent? Had he met him at the Murder Hut before? That sounded right. He had the feeling that he had met him there just earlier that day, that he had even brought him into the Hut to talk about something, but he didn't remember what. What was his name again? He remembered something about an F. What was it? Frank? Fido? It was on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn't remember.

"Uh… Yeah." His vision finally clearing, Stan looked around at the small collection of men and women surrounding them. "What am I doing...?"

"You blacked out," F-something answered a little too quickly. "Y'got a bit too carried away. Had a little too much to drink, I'm afraid. You probably don't remember much, but don't you worry. We kept you all hydrated and fed, so you should feel all better in the morning. Now Melania, why don't you be a darling and help Mr. Pines home?" The man stepped away from Stan to let a young, hispanic-looking woman take his arm.

Stan didn't feel particularly dizzy or anything, but thought it better to let the woman help him than to risk looking like an idiot and tripping over himself. "Oh! Uh… Thanks, Mr… Mr... Ah, this is so rude, but I completely forgot your name. What was it again?" Stan asked feeling honestly embarrassed.

"Fiddleford McGucket. Ah… You can just call me Fiddleford, if you'd like. And don't you forget to come back in a week, y'hear? You did promise that you'd be back, and we'd just love to have you. We wouldn't want you to be forgettin' anything and leavin' it here on accident,now would we?"

"Oh. Uh, yeah! Will do. I will definitely be back!" Stan affirmed. He had a good feeling about this Fiddleford guy. As he was led out of the strange underground cavern, something felt off, but he didn't question it. He just blamed the alcohol.

When the group was certain that Stan was gone, Ivan finally addressed Fiddleford. "Master, do you still plan on recruiting him into our organization?"

"You aren't going to change my mind." There was an authoritative edge to Fiddleford's voice.

Ivan didn't look entirely satisfied with the response. "He resisted! Just like his brother. Are you certain that we can trust him? He might try to leak our secrets."

"I know what I'm doing, Ivan," F assured, taking the cylinder out of the gun and labeling it with a marker in his pocket. "When he comes back, he'll see that we're right."

"And if he doesn't?"

"... Then I guess that we'll just wipe his memory of us."

Ivan paused before continuing, "I am glad that you are finally taking my suggestions, Master." Ivan bowed to the man slightly, honoured. "But for your sake, I hope that you do know what you're doing. We wouldn't want to repeat the same mistakes as you did with his brother."

Fiddleford hesitated. "He can't be nearly as stubborn as Stanford. He'll come around. Just you wait and see."

While Ivan was still not satisfied, he remained silent.

Placing the canister in the organizing system with one hand, Fiddleford let out a sigh. "Ivan… Here." Walking over, he placed the memory gun in his pupil's hands. Ivan looked slightly perplexed as his master continued, "Why don't you lead the group tonight? I'm bushed. It's been a long day, and I think it's about time I trusted you with this."

"Master…" Ivan's one eye was practically sparkling in awe.

"Aw, don't give me that." F lightly punched Ivan on the shoulder. "I know you're probably nervous, but so long as you're careful, you'll do great."

The others in the room looked at one another nervously.

"I'll do you proud, Master." Ivan swore, eagerness clear in is voice.

"I know you will." Fiddleford gave the teenager a fond smile as he started to head off. "Now don't you go using that memory gun on any children, y'hear?" he called back before Ivan was too far off.

He could hear Ivan shout something indistinctly back. Satisfied with that response, Fiddleford began to head back towards his apartment.

However as he walked back, he couldn't help but feel eyes bearing into his back.

* * *

Author's Note: _See? What'd I tell you? A nice and short chapter this time! Also are you ready for shit to get real? Because next chapter shit's gonna get real. And long. A little real at least. And by real, I mean not real. Welp, in any case, happy Sunday (I am late posting this because of the next chapter), and as always, I am a whore for feedback, so if you review, I will adore you._

 _PS: Next chapter was a pain to edit. Points for whoever can guess why! Bonus points if you can guess who the cameo character in this chapter is!_

 _Crappy little pun for the day: GRQ'W BRX IRUG-JHW DERXW PH!_

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 _15-12-4 13-1-14 13-3-7-21-3-11-5-20 9-19 1-23-6-21-12-12-25 19-23-5-5-20._  
 _8-5'19 20-8-5 14-9-3-5-19-20 3-21-12-20 12-5-1-4-5-18 20-8-1-20 25-15-21'12-12 5-22-5-18 13-5-5-20!_


	9. Chapter 8: Triangles

As Fiddleford lay down to go to bed that night, something didn't feel right. Staring up at the knots of wood in the ceiling beams, he couldn't help but feel as if they were staring back at him. His mind buzzed with thoughts as he finally had the time and silence to process everything that had happened today. He watched the minutes tick away. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Thirty minutes. Even after watching the clock for well over an hour, his mind was still very much awake. It had been a lot to process. In just one day he had learned that Ford's brother had died, that Ford had been lost to the portal, that his brother who wasn't dead was stealing Ford's identity, met Ford's brother, had tried to recruit Ford's brother into the Society of the Blind Eye, failed, erased part of Stan's memory, and had finally bended to Ivan's constant requests to be given some leadership role. It had been a busy day.

Finally deciding to sit up, F ruffled a hand through his hair. He knew that he wasn't going to get any sleep tonight.

To settle his nerves, he made himself a cup of coffee and pensively sipped it as the minutes continued to tick away.

Sitting down at the small kitchen table, he held the framed photo of his wife and son in his hands. Nights like these made him miss them the most. He missed the mundane normality of living with a wife and child in suburbia. Lonely nights like these only made him wish that he had never left. He knew that what he was doing, erasing people's memories with a gun made out of scrap metal and lightbulbs, was insane but only when he looked at the photo did he truly feel the gravity of his situation.

 _But he couldn't go back._

Slipping up his right sleeve, he stared at the triangle shaped scars hidden there.

Too much had changed for him to ever go back. There was no leaving this path that he forged for himself now. He had gotten too involved. And these scars were his payment.

In the back of his mind there was a thought that horrified him.

This town, Gravity Falls, it seemed to attract strange people. The town almost seemed to draw in anomalies. It defined itself by the paranatural and the strange. If it hadn't been for Stanford and the opportunities he offered, he probably never would have thought to come here on his own. If he had a choice, he would probably leave and never come back. But that was no longer possible. He knew that he was a part of the town now, and even if he wanted to escape, he couldn't anymore. Whether it had always been a part of him, or if the town had changed him to match its image, he didn't rightly know. But either way, he recognised that he was an anomaly now. Just like the rest of the town. Maybe he had been an anomaly ever since Ford had recorded him in that journal of his. The more time that passed, the more Fiddleford wondered if those journals had been cursed to make all who read them suffer. But if he was an anomaly just like those other entries, he knew that no matter what he did, he would always be drawn back towards this town. Just as if it were the force for which it was named.

Still. As much as the thought that he could never return home hurt him, it offered F a strange sense of comfort. He was a piece of this anomaly now. This town was his prison. But it also meant that maybe, through luck or destiny or whatever forces controlled the universe, that one day, the one anomaly that he cared so much about would come back. Fiddleford knew that he couldn't escape. But as long as he stayed here, maybe if he waited long enough, he would get to see Stanford again. Maybe one day Stanford's studies would force him back to Gravity Falls. And even if it was only because F was a scientific question that Ford needed an answer to, they would meet again. And that gave him reason to hope.

Tracing a finger over the scratched out eyes of the triangles, F let out a wistful sigh. Bowing his head and closing his eyes, he couldn't keep himself from smiling. When he met Stan and learned that his old friend had been lost to the portal, he had given up hope. Meeting Stan felt like a death warrant for his brother. But now that he had time to sit down and think about it, he knew that he would see Stanford again. For months he had felt trapped. He knew that he had a responsibility and connection to this town that he couldn't escape. But just for now, it felt more like a blessing than a curse. And if he did see Stanford again one day, maybe they would be able to forgive one another for all of their mistakes.

When he opened his eyes, however, he immediately forgot this revelation to stare in shock over how one of the scars no longer had its eye crossed out and was looking back at him.

The sight shook him and filled F with a sense of fear and rage. He needed to do something about this change. Now.

Grabbing the steak knife that happened to be sitting on the table, he brought it to his arm and just as he was about to pierce his own flesh with it, the scar spoke. "WOAH THERE, GLASSES! RELAX! THERE'S NO NEED FOR YOU TO CUT ME UP JUST YET!"

F knew that voice. "No… Not you…" he muttered in disbelief.

The triangle took the disbelieving silence as an opportunity to continue. "BESIDES, I HAVE A FEELING THAT IT'S GOING TO HURT YOU A LOT MORE THAN IT'S GOING TO HURT ME! BUT THEN AGAIN, WHAT DO I KNOW? I'M JUST THE DEMON IN YOUR DREAMS THAT HAS BEEN KEEPING YOU AWAKE AT NIGHT!"

F was half-tempted to drive the knife into his arm right then and there, but he knew that if he did, the dream demon would only find his pain amusing. He certainly knew that either way, the creature presently had no intention of leaving him alone. "What do you want, Bill Cipher?" Glasses asked, wearily placing the knife back onto the table.

"OOH! USING MY FULL NAME, NOW ARE YOU? HOW OMINOUS! AND HERE I AM, JUST WANTING TO CHECK UP ON YOU! I JUST WANTED TO SEE HOW YOU'VE BEEN! IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE I'VE SEEN YOU. YOU HAVEN'T SEEN ME IN A WHILE. BUT I SEE YOU AROUND TOWN A LOT! I HAVE EYES AND THEIR FUNCTION IS TO SEE THINGS. DO YOU SEE WHAT I'M SAYING HERE? I LIKE TO GO TO THE OCEAN AND SEE. THE THIRD LETTER OF THE ALPHABET IS SEE. SEE?" With each time Bill said the word, 'see' his eye would get larger and larger until the etching took up most of Fiddleford's forearm. With a snap, Bill reverted back to the original scar's size. "SERIOUSLY THOUGH, YOU'VE BEEN ONE DIFFICULT MAN TO KEEP TRACK OF, GLASSES! YOU KEEP TRYING TO COVER MY EYES WITH THOSE SILLY SECRET SOCIETY SYMBOLS OF YOURS, AND IT'S NOT APPRECIATED. I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE GOING TO SAY, AND NO. I DIDN'T PARTICULARLY APPRECIATE IT EITHER WHEN YOU TOOK OVER MY CULT, BUT THIS IS JUST RUDE. AND PROBABLY BAD FOR YOU. AND I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING," as Bill poorly imitated Fiddleford's voice, his lips were forced to move along with the words. "'DON'T SAY THAT BILL! I LOVE YOU! BILL, YOU'RE MY MAIN MAN! I'M NOTHING WITHOUT YOU, BILL! PLEASE EAT MY EYES, BILL!' BUT PLEASE. HOLD YOURSELF, GLASSES. THIS IS A REAL CONFRONTATION GOING ON HERE, AND I THINK THAT YOU'RE LOSING IT! AND I THINK WE WOULD ALL APPRECIATE IT IF YOU DIDN'T TAKE YOUR INSANITY OUT ON ME! I DON'T APPRECIATE IT, YOU DON'T APPRECIATE IT, WE ALL DON'T APPRECIATE IT! ISN'T THAT RIGHT, ME?" Bill nudged another triangle shaped scar and it sprung to life, its eye also suddenly healing.

"YEAH! GLASSES HERE IS THE JUST THE WORST. HE KEEPS TRYING TO COVER US UP AND SCRATCH US OUT! LIKE THAT DOES ANYTHING EXCEPT PROVE THAT HE'S LOSING IT! GLASSES IS JUST THE WORST AND DOESN'T LET US HAVE ANYTHING! HE WON'T EVEN GIVE ME A PONY!" The other triangle shouted with the same voice and enthusiasm as Bill.

The first Bill scar started laughing, putting an arm around the second. "YOU SAID IT, YOU MILDLY DISTURBING SCAR O' BUDDY O' MINE! BY THE WAY, HOW IS YOUR CRIPPLING INSANITY GOING ALONG ANYWAY, GLASSES? NOW THAT SIXER IS WITH ME, THAT MUST MAKE YOU THE CRAZIEST PERSON IN TOWN!"

"WOW, REALLY!?" The second triangle asked in amazement. "CRAZIEST PERSON IN _GRAVITY FALLS_?! NOW THAT'S AN ACCOMPLISHMENT! CONGRATULATIONS, GLASSES! THAT'S AN IMPRESSIVE FEAT!" It started clapping in a round of applause.

"YES, I THINK THAT CONGRATULATIONS ARE IN ORDER." The first triangle started clapping and soon all of the scars around Fiddleford's forearm and wrist started clapping and dancing in celebration.

Taking his left hand, F rubbed his face in exasperation. "Can you just get to the point…? What do you want, Bill Cipher?" Fiddleford asked, not amused.

"OH, ME?" Bill snapped his fingers and appeared in front of Fiddleford, the scars on his arm reverting back to normal. F immediately pulled his sleeve back down. "I TOLD YOU THAT I WAS GOING TO KEEP MY EYE ON YOU. AN IDEA THAT YOU SEEM TO NOT HAVE TAKEN TOO KINDLY TO, MR. 'BLIND EYES.'" As Bill said those last two words, F noticed that his glasses were beginning to glow with a soft yellow light before two red X's covered his lenses. "ANYWAY, I HEAR THAT YOU MET SIXER'S BROTHER! ALWAYS HEARTWARMING TO MEET THE FAMILY!" Bill slid in next to F and gave him a side-hug.

"Stanley...? How did you…" F thought for a second before looking back to Bill. "What do you want with him?"

"THAT FEZ HEAD? NOTHING. I DON'T WANT ANYTHING FROM HIM."

Fiddleford looked at him, not believing a single word.

"WHAT? I'VE GOT NOTHING PLANNED FOR HIM! CROSS MY HEART, HOPE YOU DIE! STICK A DOZEN NEEDLES IN YOUR SPECIES' COLLECTIVE EYE! SERIOUSLY THOUGH, THAT GUY'S AN IDIOT THROUGH AND THROUGH. JUST LOOK AT HIM." Bill snapped his fingers and a poster of Stan laying down in a sultry pose appeared on the wall across the room from where they were sitting. "JUST LOOK AT HIM!" Bill somehow leaned in even closer to F and loudly whispered, "JUST BETWEEN YOU AND ME, HE ALWAYS WAS THE DUMB TWIN." In spite of the fact that Bill didn't have a mouth, he could still feel Bill's breath on the back of his neck. It smelled like durian. Immediately, however, Bill's volume went back to its usual yelling. "AND I'VE GOT BIG PLANS! A GUY LIKE THAT WOULD ONLY MUCK THEM UP."

Glancing away, Fiddleford did know that Bill was at least right there. He had taken note that Stan was far less astute than his brother, and things with him so far certainly hadn't gone as planned. Before F could say anything however, Bill started talking again.

"BUT ENOUGH ABOUT THAT IDIOT." With a snap of his fingers, Stan's eyes on the poster were crossed out with a red X. "LET'S TALK ABOUT YOU! NOW THAT SIXER'S HERE WITH ME AND 'MR. MYSTERY' HAS TAKEN PLACE, YOU DON'T HAVE MUCH REASON TO STICK AROUND GRAVITY FALLS ANYMORE, DO YOU?"

Fiddleford tried to get a word in edgewise, but was only able to say, "What...?" before Bill started talking again.

"YOU SHOULD JUST LEAVE. AND WHY DON'T YOU TAKE STANLEY WITH YOU? IT COULD BE THE SUMMER ROMANCE THAT YOU'VE NEVER WANTED AND HAVE BEEN TOO MARRIED TO HAVE." A snap and now Fiddleford was laying down in Stan's arms on the poster. Both of their eyes were crossed out.

"I can't leave! I..." Fiddleford futily began, but was again interrupted.

"SURE YOU CAN! AND YOU'D BE DOING STAN A FAVOR BY TAKING HIM ALONG! TRUST ME. THE MAN HAS ISSUES AND HAS BEEN WAITING FOR A TRIP LIKE THIS FOR A WHILE! NOW IF YOU DON'T MIND, I'M A VERY BUSY TRIANGLE AND I HAVE A VERY BUSY SCHEDULE OF TORTURING YOUR DEAR OLD SIX-FINGERED FREAK OF A FRIEND FOR THE NEXT ETERNITY!" Bill started to float away, tearing a hole in reality with the wave of his hand, but it was finally F's turn to interrupt.

F was having a hard time keeping up with Bill's erratic talking patterns, but he understood that last part. "Wait! You've got Stanford? Show him to me!"

Bill laughed. "SURE! YOU'D LIKE THAT WOULDN'T YOU? TO SEE THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE AGAIN." With a snap of his fingers, Bill appeared in the picture of F's family, replacing himself with F's son and replacing the face of his wife with Stanford's. "BUT I DON'T THINK YOU'RE UNDERSTANDING THIS WHOLE, 'TORTURE FOR ETERNITY,' THING I'M GOING FOR WITH HIM." Bill cuddled the image of Stanford, and traced an affectionate hand across his chest as he continued. "LETTING YOU SEE EACH OTHER WOULD KINDA DEFEAT THE PURPOSE! BUT IT'S NOT LIKE YOU CAN GO THROUGH THAT PORTAL INTO MY DIMENSION TO STOP ME! IT'S CERTAINLY NOT LIKE YOU HAVE THE ABILITY TO FIX THE PORTAL AND A COMPLETELY WILLING ASSISTANT IN STANFORD'S BROTHER EITHER! IT WAS SMART OF YOU TO GIVE UP ON SIXER! HE GETS TO BE ALL MINE NOW!" Bill laughed at seeing the despair on Fiddleford's face.

"Get out." Fiddleford sullenly ordered.

That seemed to catch Bill's attention. "WHAT WAS THAT, GLASSES? YOU HAVE TO SPEAK UP? I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER ALL THE DESPAIR IN THE ROOM!"

"I know we're in my mind. I don't want you here. **GET OUT!** " As Fiddleford shouted, he threw the picture frame across the room. The glass shattered and the frame broke immediately upon hitting the opposite wall. As he stared at the broken glass now littering the floor, he could hear Bill laughing.

Bill emerged from the image. "HEY, LOOK AT YOU, GLASSES! I DIDN'T KNOW YOU HAD IT IN YOU TO BE SO FEISTY! RWAR! SO YOU'RE FINALLY NOT SHRINKING AWAY FROM A CHALLENGE ARE YOU? I WOULD ALMOST BE IMPRESSED IF YOU WEREN'T GOING TO ERASE THIS MEMORY AND KEEP RUNNING AWAY AND HIDING LIKE USUAL! AT LEAST SIXER DOESN'T DO THAT! BUT THIS IS YOUR MIND, GLASSES. YOU'RE THE BOSS HERE! SO I GUESS I'LL LEAVE FOR NOW, BUT JUST KNOW, I'M STILL KEEPING MY EYE ON YOU! EVEN IF YOU THINK THAT YOU'VE BEEN KEEPING THEM COVERED, I'VE STILL GOT MY EYE ON YOU!" As ring with ten symbols on it appeared around Bill, he had one last thing to say. "BY THE WAY, I LEFT YOU A GIFT IN THE REAL WORLD. YOU'LL LOVE IT! I KNOW THAT YOU ALWAYS DO! BE SEEING YOU SOON!" As Bill vanished, F woke with a start.

This hadn't been the first time Bill Cipher had visited him in his dreams, but every time he did, it shook F to his core. He let out a sigh of relief, glad to be back in reality, away from Bill's influence. However the moment he looked down, he reeled in horror.

He was bleeding all over the kitchen table, the steak knife in his hand being the clear culprit. Running to grab a first aid kit, he took note of the broken picture frame laying on the kitchen floor.

Treating the wound, F took note that the cuts didn't look too deep. As far as he could tell, they were not deep enough to majorly risk his life so long as he was careful. He washed and disinfected the wound, unnerved by the image that Bill Cipher had carved into his skin there. A triangle with a single slitted eye, bow tie, and top hat. Just the same as the others. It was the same every single time.

With the wound cleaned and ready to dress, F let out a sigh. He grabbed the still bloody knife from the kitchen table and washed it clean. Turning on the gas stove, he put the tip of the blade in the fire and let it heat to a glowing red before turning the blade onto himself.

He needed to cross the eyes out. The eyes were always watching, and if he didn't cross them out, they could watch him whenever, wherever he was. He needed the wound to scar. He needed to blind the eyes.

Clenching his teeth, Fiddleford anticipated the pain. There was a sharp intake of breath and then screaming as he plunged the knife into his own arm, carving the symbol away.

* * *

Author's Note: _In my writing process, I frequently ask myself, "What's the worst thing I can do to this character?" You're welcome! And welcome to the M rating! I think that this chapter is at least… Something enough to warrant a warning. Also I will say, I always wondered if McGucket has something under that cast of his… Well, this certainly would be an… Interesting answer._

 _Honestly, I wasn't expecting to write this chapter. I wasn't really going to add Bill Cipher into this story… At least not until later... Maybe. But I kept asking myself the question, "If F helped to make the portal, and Bill needs it fixed, why doesn't he just try to use/trick F into fixing it? Certainly it would be faster than waiting for Stan to gather all 3 Journals and for him to fix it." I don't know if I can really delve into that question in this story in earnest as it's not what this story is about. This story is more about Stanley meeting F and the ramifications of the relationship that F and Stanford had on all three parties. I don't think I can give a satisfying answer to that question within the framework of this story as I have outlined it. But if there's interest, I may be willing to do something different in the future focusing on Bill and Fiddleford's relationship. So I wrote this chapter as an experiment and to open the possibility in the future. So as always, if the idea interests you, please feel free to yell at me about it in the comments._

 _Your encrypted message for the day is: WKH DQVZHU WR ODVW ZHHN'V TXHVWLRQ (ZKB KDV WKLV FKDSWHU EHHQ VR DQQRBLQJ WR HGLW?) LV: IXFNLQJ FDSV ORFN! L KDWH BRX VR PXFK, ELOO. DQBRQH FDQ VWLOO JXHVV ZKR PHODQLD LV VXSSRVHG WR EH EHIRUH L VDB LQ WKH QHAW FKDSWHU! X.X L WULHG WR PDNH DQ LQWHUHVWLQJ FDPHR LGHD. DV IRU WKRVH KHDYB URPDQWLF LPSOLFDWLRQV EHWZHHQ I DQG IRUG DQG ELOO WKLV FKDSWHU… ELOO'V MXVW WUBLQJ WR JHW XQGHU I'V VNLQ DQG WKDW'V D SUHWWB HDVB ZDB WR GR LW. ¯\\_(ツ_ _)_/¯_

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 _12-9-1-18, 12-9-1-18,_  
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 _1-14-4 1 2-1-14-11-18-21-16-20 2-21-25-5-18._

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 _20-8-1-14 5-9-20-8-5-18 5-24-16-5-3-20-5-4?_


	10. Chapter 9: Remembered

Stan slowly woke up and looked around the room. The woman who had led him home last night, a Ms. Melania Ramirez, was very courteous. But he was still not entirely certain why she had brought him here. He knew that he had been living here for the last few months, but had a hard time remembering why. Was this really one of the last places he had left to run to? And since when had he made enough money to afford this place anyway? Looking about the house reminded him of his brother. He swore that Stanford must have been here. The collection of random garbage and highly technological devices made that much obvious. But where was he? Didn't Stanford invite him to his cabin in some town in Oregon? Was this that cabin? But then again if this was his place, why couldn't he remember ever seeing him here? He couldn't remember where he must have gone, so this must not have been the place. And sure, the Murder Hut was one of the most profitable business ventures he had made in a long time, but then again, he couldn't remember what drove him to live here in the first place.

As he took off his shirt to take a shower, the mystery only increased. Something about the skin on his back felt tight and when he looked in the mirror, he saw an oddly shaped scar there. It looked like a tattoo of some obscure rune of some kind. But something in the back of his memory burned at the sight of it. How drunk had he gotten last night?

For now, he ignored the feeling and decided to go about his day as normal.

Putting on his red jacket, he started to wonder. Why was he wearing this ratty old thing anyway? He had a closet full of clothes that were his, and yet he was insisting on wearing this old jacket and torn t-shirt. Certainly he could do better than this. Wear something a little more theatrical.

Shifting through the closet, he found his father's old suit. Stan knew that he had been using his father's old fez as part of his 'Mister Mystery' outfit, but since when had he gotten his suit? Wouldn't he have given it to Ford? Shrugging it off, Stan settled for wearing a collared shirt with a question mark tie. Not the best look with his mullet, but he was thinking that he needed a haircut anyway. He just needed one last touch.

Sitting on the kitchen table, Stan spotted the perfect accessory to his ensemble. An eyepatch. Picking it up, he wondered why he had such a thing. He hadn't had any eye problems recently and couldn't remember getting it from anywhere. Looking at the concave side of the patch, he couldn't help but notice what appeared to be blood staining the cloth. Did he have an eye problem lately or something? He couldn't remember. Luckily the brownish stain was solely on the inside of the patch and so no one would be able to see it. If he didn't get an eye infection after a few hours, he figured that it was probably safe to wear.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he smiled. Perfect.

He was just about ready to get started. He just needed to restock the gift shop and to prep the register. However as he entered the gift shop, something immediately felt wrong.

He stared down the stairs going to the basement, but couldn't remember what was down there. The burning feeling returned as he looked down into the blackness. Something ached in the back of his memory. What happened to make him forget what was down there?

Stepping downstairs, he slowly began to remember… He had been down here yesterday… Hadn't he? He tried to figure out what happened as he took the elevator down to the lowest level.

Stan stared up at the massive technological device, slack-jawed and stunned. He still couldn't remember what happened, however he now knew that this _must_ have been Stanford's place. Stan knew that there was no way that he could have built this device in the basement by himself.

His head was beginning to ache. What happened to his memory? How drunk was he last night? Did he hit his head on something?

Just as he was asking himself these questions, he had to yank his hand away from something hot, yelping in surprise. He looked down at the side of this control panel-looking thing that had almost burned him. Something felt familiar about the symbol carved into the metal there.

Kneeling down to get a better look at the searingly bright symbol, he realized that he knew this symbol. It was the same one…

Stan's head throbbed. That symbol… It was the same one tattooed onto… No... It was burned into his back.

A searing pain shot through Stan's head as he remembered the fight with his brother all those months ago and the pain it brought him. And with that memory came the memory what happened the day before.

"F." Stan muttered. Putting on his red jacket, Stan left the Murder Hut for town.

* * *

Author's Note: _I edited this while sitting in a parking lot, so if it isn't the most polished chapter in the world… Eh. Today's first cipher is brought to you by my boyfriend! He says: Baloo-balee, baloo-balow. I let you go, I let you go. Also, we spent forever on this week's poem. Yay!_

 _The first cipher thing for the day is: "VWDQIRUG" FDQ'W IRU WKH OLIH RI KLP UHPHPEHU. EXW QRZ KH FDQ, DQG I LV GDPQHG, FDXVH QRZ KLV OLIH'V LQ GDQJHU. VR BRX NQRZ. EDVLFDOOB I LV IRU IXFNHG!_

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 _19-20-1-14 8-1-19 14-15-20 25-5-20 3-15-13-5 20-15 11-14-15-23_  
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 _1 19-20-18-5-1-13 15-6 13-5-13-15-18-9-5-19, 23-9-20-8-15-21-20 20-8-5-9-18 6-12-15-23,_  
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 _8-5 12-5-20 8-9-13 7-15. 8-5 12-5-20 8-9-13 7-15._

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